


Setting the Mood

by keerawa



Series: Indirectly [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Grief, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Phone Sex, Pre-Slash, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-14
Updated: 2009-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam couldn't jerk off without thinking of Jess. He couldn’t think of Jess without remembering blood and flame. And there was no way he was telling his brother about his little problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Setting the Mood

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://aerye.livejournal.com/profile)[**aerye**](http://aerye.livejournal.com/) for a truly comprehensive beta.

Sam sat on a crappy bed in a heavily warded motel room, watching the worst porno in the history of porn. The problem wasn’t the premise. A pornographic version of the Flintstones could have been fun. But this was just … Sam realized that his mouth was hanging open, snapped it shut. Train-wreck bad.

Sam’s cell rang. He answered, eyes glued to the screen.

“I’m in position outside the cave,” Dean announced. “Do your thing.”

“Wanna switch jobs?” Sam muttered.

“Love to, but you’re the one who was all handsy with the ritual urn, and got the Maenad’s attention.”

Which, yeah, okay, he should have just destroyed the whole black altar. Picking up the urn depicting a fanged woman with a basket of bleeding, detached penises for a better look, had been pretty stupid.

“This motel only gets one porn channel, and this movie, the dialog, it’s _terrible_ ,” Sam complained.

“Jesus, it’s not meant to be Shakespeare.” Dean said impatiently. “How bad can it be?”

Sam held the phone towards the TV. _‘Yes baby, yes! Stick your big bronto burger in me!’_

Sam put the phone back to his ear.

“ – pretty fricking awful. But our options are kind of limited here. According to Dad’s journal, the Maenad’s only attracted by sexual energy, and you suck at finding chicks to hook-up with. So man up, pull something out of your spank bank and start pumping the python.”

There was an awkward silence.

Dean sighed theatrically. “Didn’t we have this talk when you were thirteen? Masturbation is perfectly natural, Sammy,” he said in a mocking, lecturing tone. “Everybody does it, including you.”

That was the thing – Sam _didn’t_. Not anymore. He couldn’t jerk off without thinking of Jess. He couldn’t think of Jess without remembering blood and flame. It’d been two months, and he should be over this, but he just … wasn’t.

“Look, I know we need to get the Maenad out of the cave so you can rescue the men she captured. I’m just, uhh, not in the mood right now?” Sam said, and then immediately cringed. There was no way he was admitting his little _problem_ to his brother, but that made him sound like a wife pleading a headache.

“Oh, of course,” Dean answered immediately. “'Cause girls need to get _in the mood_ for sex, right Samantha?”

Sam made a face at the phone, not sure what to say. He’d just given Dean a whole month’s worth of reasons to call him girl names. The TV showed a close-up of Betty going down on Barney’s dick. Which could have been hot, except that the guy just wouldn’t shut up, spewing line after line of lame porno dialog.

“Well don’t worry, little brother,” Dean said finally. It wasn’t the gloating Sam had expected, but it didn’t sound like reassurance, either. His voice was too rough, too fast. More like … a dare, maybe? “It just so happens I am awesome at setting the mood. So, turn off the TV,” Dean ordered.

Sam hit the off button on the TV and sat back down. The sudden silence was a relief, even if Dean was going to be a dick about this.

“I know what the problem is,” Dean said, with all the fake sincerity he used for interviewing the grieving. “Those porno chicks, they’re not your type. You like girls who are classy. Smart. Confident. Ones that can hold their own against you in an argument.”

And, yeah, that was Sam’s type. Dean should know. He’d watched Sam fall for chess champions, class presidents, mathletes, and valedictorians in high schools across eleven states.

“Girls who know what they want, and aren’t afraid to reach out and take it.” Dean’s voice was slipping deeper now, the one he used for talking to women when the only question left was if they would make it to her place, or end up doing it in the back seat of the Impala.

Sam had never heard that voice aimed at _him_ before, and it gave him this weird, shivery feeling.

“You like the kind of girl who, when she gets home and finds you with your nose stuck in a book, she’s gonna walk right up to you, run her hand through your hair, jerk your head back and hold it there while she kisses you, deep and dirty.”

Oh God. Jess used to do that. She used to do _exactly_ that, and Sam loved it so much sometimes he would keep studying longer than he needed to, waiting for Jess to come home and grab him.

“You really should remember to close your curtains, Sammy, never know who might be watching,” Dean said, darkly amused.

Sam gasped. Dean had watched them. Sam knew he should be embarrassed, but his whole body went hot at the thought of Dean sitting in his car, _watching_ as Sam sat there and let Jess do, fuck, anything she wanted to him.

“She shoved the table out of the way and sat down in your lap, hand still holding your head right where she wanted it, tongue fucking into your mouth, thighs working as she rubbed her nipples up and down your chest.”

Sam whimpered, remembering the way Jess smelled at the end of the day, clean sweat and clove cigarettes, the sweet taste of them on her lips.

“Then she dropped to her knees in front of you, and reached for the button on your jeans.” Dean swallowed. The next sentence came out gravel-rough. “You gonna help her with that, Sammy?”

Sam’s cock was straining hard against his zipper. He struggled with clumsy hands to get his jeans open and down.

“That’s it.” Dean was breathing hard, just like Jess; she’d get so turned on just _thinking_ about all the things she wanted to do to him. “She held her hand up, waiting for you to lick it nice and wet for her. Don’t keep her waiting, man.”

Sam tasted salt on his palm and moaned softly.

“Good.” Dean’s voice was unsteady. It made Sam wonder if Dean was rubbing himself through his jeans, if he’d done it while sitting in the car, watching Jess, watching him. “She trailed her fingernails down your shaft.”

And that was nice, yeah, but Sam wanted more.

“Don’t worry; she knows how you like it. Hand around you, not too tight, pumping reeeeal slow.”

Fuck. Yes. Like that, just like that. Dean knew, he knew, and it’d been so fucking long, and God, he needed this. Sam’s breath caught.

“You’re that close already?”

“Yeah,” Sam panted. Just a few more strokes, and –

“Then stop,” Dean ordered.

Sam’s hand froze before he even processed the command. “Dean, what the hell!”

“Because I know for a fact that you like the type of girl who teases the fuck out of you.”

Sure, Jess did sometimes, but for the first time in months he was gonna get to come, he needed this so fucking bad, and Dean was _stopping_ him?

“Look, it’s working,” Dean said. “The Maenad’s headed out. So why don’t you, uh, get your clothes off, go take a nice hot shower, and lie down naked on the bed. And just, you know, keep it up.” Dean huffed a nervous laugh. “I’ll call back in ten minutes.”

Dean hung up on him. Sam sat trembling on the edge of the bed, cell phone in one hand, dick in the other. He could just … but it wasn’t … and the hunt. Right. The Maenad. Sam put the cell phone down and stripped out of his clothes, kicking them towards his duffle. He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Drops of warm water slid down his back, soft and sweet. The Maenad should definitely be on its way; he was still so fucking turned on, every inch of his skin hungry for touch.

Sam poured a little shampoo into his hands, ran it through his hair. When he showered with Jess, she’d let him wash her hair, press back against him and moan as he massaged her scalp. He ducked under the showerhead to rinse the shampoo off, and it was like bending down to kiss Jess under the stream of the water. Sam ran his soapy hands down his body quickly, just enough to get clean, not letting the touch linger where he wanted it most. Jess would get her hands all slick with soap, reach down and wash his cock, then his balls, gripping them tight enough that when he thrust against her stomach it hurt, just a little.

Sam was out of the shower now, drying off, the rough motel towel a tease against his skin. Jess never bothered to put clothes on after they showered together, would drag him into the bedroom with her skin still damp and flushed, laughing at him when he wrapped a towel around his waist.

Sam picked up the cell phone, sat down on the bed naked, and then leaned back against the wall, still hard and feeling vaguely ridiculous. He lay down, closed his eyes, and reached for his dick. A single drop of blood spattered on his face and he jerked himself back up to a seated position. Crappy motel bed. Amateur paintings of birds on the walls. No Jess. No flames.

He couldn’t even jerk off without his brother talking him through it. Fucking pathetic. His cell phone rang.

Sam answered. “Look, Dean -”

“Okay, where were we?” Dean sounded distracted, and slightly out of breath. Sam could hear the low roar of the Impala through the phone.

“Oh, right,” Dean said. “You lying on the bed?”

“Yeah, but -”

“What are you wearing?” Dean asked, in the honeyed, seductive tone he used on women in bars.

It was the clichéd line that got to him. Sam suddenly realized that he was having _phone sex_. With his brother. Sam blushed hot, from his face all the way down his chest.

“Nothing,” Sam croaked, mouth desert-dry. He wanted this. He did.

“Good boy,” Dean said, voice deep and edged with something Sam didn’t recognize. “Now you just lie back, relax, and listen to me.”

Sam lay back down on the bed, his eyes drifting shut. He felt turned on, yeah, thrumming with it. But also … Dean’s voice and the Impala’s rumble wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and Sam felt _safe_.

“Your girl’s standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a tiny little t-shirt and nothing else. She’s looking at you, Sammy, and she likes what she sees. You hard for her?”

“Yes,” Sam whispered. Hard for Jess. Hard for Dean.

“Now she’s crawling up the bed. She's grinding down on your thigh, pussy pressed against your skin, so you can feel how wet she is.”

Sam’s hand crept down his body, paused. “Can I, uh…?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said, voice gruff and low. “You can touch yourself, Sam. Touch yourself any way you want, so long as you’re thinking of her.”

And, Christ, his hand felt amazing. Sam’s breath gusted out on a nearly silent gasp.

“She bends down and sucks the head of your cock into her mouth. Wet and messy, jacking the base, moaning around you ‘cause she’s getting off on this. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, Dean, oh ...”

“Now she’s taking you deeper, and her tongue’s getting in on the act, licking and pressing, while she rides your thigh. She’s good at this. You know she’s done this before, to lots of guys. She’s been around. But you’re the one she wants. You’re the one she wants to taste, feel heavy on her tongue, you’re the one she wants in her bed every night.”

Close now, close, and it’d been so long, felt like his heart was pounding through his whole body, building up …

“You want to fuck up into her mouth? Do it,” Dean ordered, voice hoarse and urgent. “She wants you to.”

Sam never had, didn’t want to hurt her, but now Dean told him to, and it was so good, hips arching, Dean’s voice thrusting him up into her.

There was a gunshot outside, and Sam didn’t even care, so close, fuck, he needed –

The door slammed open.

“Got the bitch,” Dean snarled, and froze. The ferocious grin slid off his face as he saw Sam on the bed, almost sobbing, pumping up into his fist. Dean’s eyes went wide, dark, and hungry. “Fuck, Sam, you look…” He trailed off. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

“Dean, please,” Sam begged.

Dean’s shoulders rose and fell on a single stuttering deep breath.

“I’m, uh, gonna go gas up the car,” Dean said, lurching backwards out the door, which locked behind him with a soft click.

That left Sam lying naked and alone on a crappy bed in a heavily warded motel room. But he could see Jess riding his cock, hair hanging loose, face intent on her own pleasure. Could imagine Dean watching them from the doorway, voicing rough, eager commands, and Sam came the moment Dean told him he could.


End file.
